The Gardens of Change
by Enigma Esprit
Summary: Over the past 2 years a lot has changed in everyone's world. Lives have been lost and memories have been made, but very few of them are good ones. The Gardens across the land all progressed through a time of upheaval, a time which left many without a place to turn or a place to call their own.


**Disclaimer - I do not own, nor do I claim to own, the characters, locations, or any property relating to or baring resemblance to the Final Fantasy series that may be mentioned in the following story. The plot is my own, nothing more.**

 **Note - This is the first thing I've written in quite some time. A lot of credit has to go to Scribblesness for giving me the shot in the arm that I needed to do so! I hope everyone enjoys it. Constructive feedback is more than welcome.**

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"You can't do this to me!" Exclaimed the fresh faced man, with tears streaming down his now rosy cheeks

The youngster strode forward, pushing his equals aside as he did so. He had no regard for them, no respect and no time to care. His purposeful walk halted as he reached the front of the room, now face to face with the villain in his personal story of woe. There was an audible silence in the room as the individuals stood face to face with one another. One, the young man, presented a weak figure: Thin and average in height, quivering, with an expressive set of facial features and animated shoulder length grey hair. The other, also a young man, but a relic in comparison, displayed a much different demeanor: Broad and confident, composed – almost as if he had seen this all before.

The silence was now unbearable throughout the cold, light filled room. Spectators were almost frozen in anticipation, wide eyed and open mouthed. One had even taken up his hiding place behind a flourishing orange and red plant in the corner, like a gossip starved ninja, desperate for the next morsel of entertainment to be served for his re-enactment purposes later that evening.

"What gives you the right?! Hmm?! What gives you the right to take my future into your hands and crush it as if it was nothing?" The younger of the two men choked out, breaking the silence. His voice fluctuated in pitch as the emotion of the situation took control.

No response. The stoic figure in front of the now furious tear soaked man showed no emotion. A muscle was not moved, a damn was not given. This was not an argument like the tussled grey haired youngster wanted it to be. An argument required two parties, and the second was not prepared to participate.

As silence caressed the high ceilings of the room the young man took one final step towards his target, filling what minimal space there was between the two. With the difference in stature now more apparent than ever, the youngster looked up to lock eyes, his nose a couple of inches below that of the cold individual in front of him. With his emotions now seemingly stable he uttered three words:

"You. Are. Nothing."

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed towards the exit, roughly grabbing his long green trench coat from a young black haired girl who had picked it up from off the floor. A wry smile appeared on her bright face as he did so. She loved a bad boy.

All eyes in attendance that had followed the man out of the room began slowly panning back towards the other man; the wall of silence. The remaining figure at the front of the room scanned the room from left to right, almost challenging the others in attendance to step forward as their predecessor did. None took up the challenge, but instead opted to slowly take their seats which had been vacated in a slightly overdramatic fashion when the drama commenced. The hush remained over the room as the man finally drew breath in preparation for what was sure to be an inspiring rebuttal to his challenged authority:

"I don't get paid enough for this shit." Inspiring? Perhaps not.

At this point an extremely timid, yet seemingly ballsy girl, given the situation, raised her hand and managed to speak gently:

"Mr Almasy, Sir. Class finished 40 minutes ago and we have training to attend. Can we go?"

Seifer had his gloved hand massaging the furrowed brow that had appeared on his scarred face. The situation was clearly an inconvenience to him and had taken what little patience he had to the brink. Instead of replying verbally, Seifer took to waiving his other hand in a dismissive manner towards the exit of the room. The attendees took this as an immediate sign to vacate, leading to a mass exodus of youthfulness.

Everyone had taken their leave as Seifer sat down on his rickety timber-built chair, kicking his legs up onto the desk in the process. Although a well regarded gunblade specialist, a people person he was not. Could he have handled the situation better? Sure. Would he have gone about it differently given the chance? No.

Deciding not to linger, Seifer quickly jumped up from his seat and proceeded to leave the room. He had a mission briefing to get to and was already running late. Not that he cared much. The briefing was being delivered by Quistis and respect wasn't really a feeling he had for her, regardless of how long they had known each other. Then again, Seifer didn't really respect anyone.

As he nonchalantly strolled through the courtyard he noticed that the flora was beginning to perish and the evening was feeling brisk. The seasons were in transition and the cold snap was on its way. Upon this realisation he let out an exasperated sigh. Though the cold didn't bother him, he knew the complaints that it would draw from certain other individuals that he associated with. Their place of residence was hardly equipped with the latest in heating technology. It was hardly equipped with anything.

Seifer's leisurely wander through the courtyard concluded as he reached the splintered door of his destination: the briefing room. Before entering he ruffled his coat and took a few rapid breaths as if to suggest he had sprinted from his previous location. Making an entrance was always Seifer's kind of thing. He loved to be the centre of attention. Even as an orphan.  
After he felt suitably prepped he flung the door open, crashing the door into the wall as he did so, shaking the rust off its iron hinges in the process.

"Phew! Sorry boss. Got here as fast as I could!" panted Seifer, trying, and failing, to mask the chuckle in his voice.

His attempt of comedy was met by several unwelcoming glares, most notably from the person he labelled boss: Quistis.

"Seifer, have you not learned? "

His façade had ended, willingly. "I know, I know, I need to be on time, I should show more respect, blah, blah, blah." Dismissed Seifer, as he propped himself against the wall directly next to the door.

"No. Have you not learned? You're not funny." Quistis countered, whilst winking at him and slowly walking towards to the table in the centre of the room.

Seifer's face immediately shifted from his usual smug showing to an unfamiliar gobsmacked look. He was used to riling up everyone in his path, so wasn't prepared for that unexpected slam from the usually frosty Quistis. What made it worse is that everyone else in the room clearly enjoyed it, much to his dismay.

Rather than be drawn into some comedic back and forth with her, which to the surprise of Seifer he was already loosing, he chose to take his place around the table along with everyone else. A quick glance around confirmed his previous hypothesis: the cold would be a problem for some people.

"Irvine, are you really wearing two coats?! What is wrong with you?" Seifer mocked.

Lowering his cupped hands from his mouth, Irvine glared in response

"In case you haven't noticed, you ass, we're living in a derelict orphanage! Which, by the way, is no where near Trabia. It's in the Centra region, so why is it so damn cold?!"

Seifer raised both of his hands by his head and grinned. He wanted a rise from Irvine and he got it. Reputation restored.

During this exchange numerous documents had been meticulously placed onto the table in front of the group. Each document had several pictures with various annotations on them scrawled in thin red ink. Maps, diagrams, faces, it was perhaps a touch over engaging, but it had all of the trademarks of a Trepe briefing: thoroughly researched and carefully thought out. What it did lack, however, was a clear objective. Perhaps lost in a sea of intel, perhaps undecided, it wasn't clear. But was clear was that Quistis had obviously arranged this meeting for a reason. It wasn't just for a chat that was for sure.

"So, esteemed leader of ours, care to tell us what the hell we're doing here?" Huffed a somewhat impatient Seifer.

He waited for an obvious challenge to come his way from someone. Of course it would, he was always the outsider, but this time it didn't come. And it was a bewildering feeling. Was everyone else as baffled by the mountains of paperwork as he was? Who knew? All that was apparent was that Quistis was keeping her cards close to her chest for what felt like an age. The silence around the room was reminiscent of the same silence that Seifer experienced earlier in the day with the grey haired youngster. But this time it was different. It was an expectant silence.

Quistis made her way to the top of the table and took a seat. The soft glow of the overhead light was just enough to aid in the reading of the tabled documents. It was also enough to show the growing curiosity on everyone's face. The tension was palpable.

"I know you all must have questions about what's going on. I'd be concerned if you didn't, but for the time being I need to you all to listen. I need you to take a second to think about why we're all here. We're all here, together, because we were once SeeD's, mercenaries of Garden. And now…we're not."


End file.
